


Treebeard's Tryst

by treehuggerlock (cottonballz_of_death)



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Crack, Fisting, M/M, PWP, References to Drug Use, Rimming, Sorry Not Sorry, Voyeurism, toplock, tree sex as in the sex is with a tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:50:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3903670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottonballz_of_death/pseuds/treehuggerlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock tops a tree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treebeard's Tryst

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Category_5_Sex_Hurricane_Fest_2015](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Category_5_Sex_Hurricane_Fest_2015) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Lord Sherlockiel is the Bark Fuck Prince of Middle Earth. Men hate him. Maidens want him. _Ents fear him._
> 
> For the nonny who requested this, I apologize in advance if this was not what you were looking for, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. 
> 
> FYI, this depiction of Treebeard is absolutely not compliant with Tolkien canon (really none of this fic is compliant with Tolkien canon, or really any canon at all ever).
> 
> In case it wasn't already clear from the summary and tags, this fic contains a human having sex with a sentient tree. Please set your expectations accordingly. :)
> 
> Also, many many thank yous to the fantastic airynothing who beta'd this fic and helped wrangle my errant commas and misplaced words.

John trailed behind Sherlock, questioning his life choices as they walked through the forest. Well, John walked. Sherlock positively skipped. They were supposed to be on holiday or on a case or something. Sherlock hadn’t been too clear on that point when he’d all but dashed out the door, calling a belated, “Come on, John, we’re going to miss the train,” as he pounded down the steps. 

Now, here he was, lugging a gallon jug of maple syrup through an old growth forest while Sherlock cavorted in front of him, nattering on about the _colors_ and how he could see things growing. John wasn’t quite sure when or how Sherlock had got his hands on LSD, but as far as he was concerned, he couldn’t come down off it fast enough. 

Eventually, after John’s arms had been aching from the strain of carrying the damned jug of maple syrup for what felt like hours, Sherlock turned off the trail and beat a meandering path through the thick underbrush. 

John called, “Sherlock, stay on the trail!” but Sherlock had all but disappeared into the dense growth. Muttering under his breath, he followed. 

After of few minutes of walking, he arrived in a small clearing. An ancient oak tree stood in the center of it. It was massive. The trunk was so thick that John doubted three people in a chain could have gotten their arms around it. The thick sprawling branches were covered in layers of moss, mistletoe and ivy. This tree was ancient. 

Sherlock was standing near the trunk, running his fingers lightly over the bark as if he were caressing a lover’s skin. 

“Uh, Sherlock?” 

Sherlock jolted from his reverie. “John! You came just in time. Come over here and be sure to bring the maple syrup with you.” 

John lugged the jug over to the tree. 

Sherlock resumed caressing its bark, running his fingers over the grooves and ridges, tweaking at twigs, almost as if they were...nipples. 

“Sherlock, what are doing? You do realize that is a tree, right?” 

Sherlock shot him an annoyed glare, “He’s not a tree, John, he’s an Ent. He’s a fully sentient being, just like you and me.” 

John felt a headache coming on. Sherlock was high again. He should probably take him somewhere quiet until he came down, preferably someplace where they wouldn’t be arrested for public indecency. 

Just as John was about to suggest that he and Sherlock move the party elsewhere, a great creaking of wood shattered the quiet peacefulness of the forest. 

John looked at the source of the sound. A face, a fucking face had appeared in the trunk of the tree. He glared at Sherlock. 

“Dammit, Sherlock, what did I tell you about not drugging me?” 

“I didn’t drug you,” Sherlock retorted, but his attention was on the tree. 

Another great crack of splintering wood echoed through the forest. John looked up, searching for the source, when a voice spoke. 

The voice was ponderous and slow, sometimes taking a full minute between syllables. It rustled like leaves in a gale, snapped like frozen branches in winter, and creaked like boughs in a storm. 

“Sher--lock. Wel--come.” 

“Treebeard,” Sherlock whispered reverently, “I came, just like you asked.” 

“Have--you--brought--your--seed?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then--let--us--begin--the--rit--ual.” 

Sherlock knelt before the tree-thing’s face and stroked its cheek. Bits of moss and tiny insects tumbled to the forest floor. He rested the palm of his other hand on the other cheek, leaned forward and kissed the tree on its rough, bark-covered lips. A great creaking of wood issued from the trunk of the tree as its mouth moved against Sherlock’s. Unthinkingly, John took a step forward and squinted. Was that Sherlock’s tongue? Was he licking the tree? A flash of pale wood darted between Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock tilted his head, deepening the kiss. 

John’s trousers felt a bit tight. He shifted his weight, trying to get more comfortable, then he suddenly realized he was aroused. The sight of Sherlock kissing a tree was turning him on. He tried to look away, to think of cricket, what he fancied for dinner, anything but the sight of Sherlock with his arms wrapped around a tree with his lips pressing and sliding against rough, flakey bark. 

Eventually, Sherlock pulled away, a satisfied smile curving his lips. Moving with leonine grace, he walked around to the opposite side of the tree. Feeling as though he were being tugged by an invisible leash, John followed him. 

This side of the tree had two knots jutting from it. They were large and round. It was impossible to miss the fact that they were the exact size and shape of human buttocks. Between the two mounds lay a dark brown knothole, exactly where an arsehole would be on a human. With a flourish of his long coat, he spun to face the bulbous protrusions. He gave one of the knots a brisk slap. The leaves in the canopy shivered with pleasure. Sherlock slapped the other knot, eliciting another rustle of leaves. 

Dispensing with any further pleasantries, Sherlock fell to his knees and buried his face between the tree’s arsecheeks. John took a step forward, unable to believe what he was seeing. Sherlock’s lips were fastened around the tree’s dark knothole. John could see from the movements of his cheek and jaw that his tongue was working vigorously against it, laving it, pressing into it, commanding that it yield to his insistent mouth. The quivering of the leaves grew louder and there was another creak of wood. 

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered, “yes, open for your Bark Fuck Prince.” 

Sherlock resumed tonguing the tree’s arsehole, massaging the tree’s dark opening with his fingers. Eventually, he released the tree and snapped his fingers at John. “The maple syrup. Now!” John jumped to attention, scurrying to Sherlock bearing the heavy jug of maple syrup. Sherlock uncorked it and poured a generous dollop into his palms. He smeared it over the tree’s arsehole and poured more over his hand, coating his fingers. John did not move away, but watched closely as Sherlock slid one finger inside the tree’s knothole. The leaves shivered and the limbs creaked. 

Sherlock grinned up at him. “Treebeard likes it when you watch.” 

Another surge of arousal surged through John’s groin. He tugged at his trousers again, trying to ease some of the discomfort. 

Sherlock looked up from where he was now sliding two fingers into Treebeard’s quivering knothole. “Take them off.” 

“What? Here?” 

“Why not? We’re in the middle of nowhere. Nobody’s going to come by.” 

John desperately wanted to protest, but the sight of three of Sherlock’s fingers thrusting in and out of that dark crevice overwhelmed his resolve. He yanked his buttons and zips free.

Within seconds, he’d pulled his cock from the slit in his boxers. He groaned in relief and longing as he stroked its length. 

Sherlock looked him over, his eyes glittering with lust in the soft forest light. “Want some syrup?” he asked casually. 

John looked the jug over with misgiving, but decided he might as well give it a try. He was jacking off while his flatmate fingered a tree. At this point, his life could not get more surreal. 

He poured a generous amount over his hand and cock. The syrup was sticky against his skin and made his cock feel slightly itchy. Still, it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever used for lube. 

By this time, Sherlock had worked four fingers into the tree and was just starting to ease his thumb inside. Treebeard’s branches swayed. Beads of sap stood up from the bark. Slowly, gently, twisting his hand, Sherlock eased his knuckles inside the tree. The tree’s entrance fluttered and squeezed as it accepted this new intrusion. 

Once Treebeard grew accustomed to the presence of Sherlock’s thick knuckles inside his gaping cavity, Sherlock began to fuck him with his fist, sliding it, slowly but firmly in and out of the maple syrup soaked opening. 

Sherlock worked his fist inside Treebeard until the desperate creak of branches had grown almost deafening, then slowly, he withdrew, carefully easing his knuckles past Treebeard’s tight tree ring. 

Once his hand was free of Treebeard’s hole, Sherlock rose to his feet, unbuttoned his trousers, and freed his cock. 

John’s jaw dropped with astonishment at the prodigious length and girth of Sherlock’s raging erection. He had never in his life seen a cock so large and virile. John could see now why Sherlock had fisted Treebeard open. His hand worked faster over his own erection as he imagined how it would feel to have that impressive member inside him, plundering his brown rosette of forbidden desire. 

Sherlock slicked a thick layer of maple syrup over his cock. John moaned at the sight of the amber liquid coating the bulbous head and glazing the thick shaft before trickling down to large round bollocks drawn tight with lust. 

Sherlock laid one caressing hand against the tree’s flank while the other teased Treebeard’s opening with his cock, spreading lube around Treebeard’s winking knothole. The tree’s leaves shivered, almost whimpering in frustrated need. 

Once the maple syrup coated every inch of Treebeard’s entrance, Sherlock shoved his hips forward, seating himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust. A great groan of wood resounded through the forest. Branches snapped. Twigs and moss rained down on John’s head. Treebeard’s trunk quivered with ecstasy. Sherlock gave the tree a few seconds to adjust to the thick cock that now filled his knothole, running his fingers soothingly over his bark. Once the tree stopped shaking against him, Sherlock began fucking him in earnest, taking up a relentless rhythm that had Treebeard’s leaves shaking with every thrust. 

John’s eyes fastened on the place where Sherlock’s cock entered Treebeard’s knothole, imagining how it would feel to have that thick cock, sticky with maple syrup pounding him with that same relentless rhythm. 

As John watched, Sherlock’s thrusts grew fiercer and more erratic. His knuckles were white where they clutched at the bark of the tree. He was close now. John’s hand on his own cock picked up its rhythm. 

Seconds later, John heard a rending crash of splintering wood. Clouds of yellow pollen filled the air, choking John’s lungs and making his eyes water. He was close, so close. He kept his hand on his cock and his eyes fastened on Sherlock’s thrusting hips even as he struggled to breathe. 

Sherlock’s face was red and his hair was wet with perspiration. He pulled almost all the way out of Treebeard, slamming into him again and again with bruising force, slamming harder and harder, filling the air with the sound of sticky flesh slapping against rough bark until finally, his back arched, his every muscle going rigid with exultation as he spent and spent and spent violently into Treebeard, filling him to overflowing with white gouts of thick seed. 

John cried out with pleasure, his come striping the forest floor as Sherlock’s release triggered his own orgasm. 

When John came back to himself, he saw that Sherlock now knelt in front of Treebeard’s face. With a soft rustling of leaves and creak of wood, the Ent’s trunk tipped ever so slightly forward in what could only be a bow. 

“Thank--you--Bark--Prince--for--sav--ing--our--peo--ple. With--your--seed--my--kind--will--live--on.” 

The lips of the tree curved up in a soft smile, then melted slowly into the bark. John sat down quickly, his legs almost giving out. He was so confused. 

“Sherlock, what just happened?” 

Sherlock stumbled over and plopped down beside him. “I just had sex with Treebeard so that he could propagate his race. You see, I’m the Bark Fuck Prince. I have magical sperm that can impregnate any plant, including a male magical tree creature. There are no more female Ents, so I was Treebeard’s last hope of creating a new generation.” 

John raised his eyebrows, “So you’re going to be a father? To a tree?” 

“Well, no. To about a hundred thousand seedlings, some of which may become Ents in a couple hundred years or so, long after I’m dead.” 

“Could you get me pregnant?” 

“Are you a tree?” 

“Um, no.” 

“Then definitely not.” 

John sighed with relief. 

Suddenly, Sherlock was on him, pressing his shoulders back into the soft mat of dead leaves and dried moss. “Do you want me to try?” Sherlock asked. 

His eyes glittered hungrily and his hands were rough, almost bruising on John’s shoulders. 

“Yes,” John breathed, his cock quickening. 

Sherlock chuckled darkly and John felt a finger sticky with maple syrup press against his arsehole. He closed his eyes and leaned back, moaning in pleasure as he allowed himself to be subsumed by his bark lover.


End file.
